


Memories of Youth Recalled

by anthean



Series: Softer Shades [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthean/pseuds/anthean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh—it's a poem," Jehan says, tilting his papers so Combeferre can see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of Youth Recalled

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a sequel to "Softer Shades", exactly; I just wrote it and realized it fit in the same universe.

"What are you writing?" Combeferre mumbles, lifting his head from the pillow before dropping it again with a sigh. Jehan sits cross-legged in bed beside him, one of Combeferre's textbooks for a desk, scribbling on a few odd-sized sheets of paper. He's holding them at an angle, to better catch the light of the candle, and Combeferre can't make out their contents.  
  
"Oh—it's a poem," Jehan says, tilting his papers so Combeferre can see. "I thought you were asleep."  
  
"Dozing," Combeferre says. He rests a hand on Jehan's bare knee—Jehan sleeps nude as soon as the weather warms enough—and burrows deeper into their bed. "May I hear it?"  
  
"Certainly," Jehan says. He searches through his papers for the poem's beginning. " _Do you remember our sweet life when we were so young, we two…_ " he reads, voice hushed, carefully shaping each quiet syllable. It's a melancholy piece, full of soft rhythm and flowing rhyme, and the beat of the meter has Combeferre drifting, nearly asleep, when Jehan pauses.  
  
"It gets rougher after this next stanza," Jehan says. "Do not judge as you would a completed work."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"All right, then. _And who could ever lose the memory of those times of dawn and sky, of ribbons, of flowers, of muslin and watered silk, when love stammers a—_ this verse is no good at all." Jehan frowns at his pages as though offended by his own writing, then scratches something out.  
  
"I thought it fine," says Combeferre. "Still, I wonder that I hear so little of us in your verses, although I suppose I could put on a slip in the service of Erato."  
  
Jehan cackles; the candlelight catches on his cheekbones and the cords of his throat. "And who could ever lose the memory," he declaims, "of those late nights and early mornings, of pamphlets, surgical instruments, a human skull on the dining table!" He flourishes a hand, then grabs for his papers, which are near sliding off the bed.  
  
Combeferre laughs as well. "That skull belongs to you, my dear. _I_ am not in the habit of bringing my work home— _at least-_ " he continues, catching Jehan's skeptical eyebrow, "not in quite so literal a fashion."  
  
Jehan stretches out a leg and resettles himself against the headboard. "Still," he says, looking down at Combeferre, his face shadowed, "even if you would have the two of us eternalized in verse, is this for our friends to know? The skull on the table, and that love-" he breaks off, brushes his hand across Combeferre's torso where, under his nightshirt, a jagged scar runs parallel to his ribs. "-love speaks medical Latin?"  
  
"Most of our friends know about us already, at least vaguely," Combeferre says.  
  
"Oh, of course," Jehan replies. "It was Bahorel, you know, who told me to either stop pining or just, just suck your cock already," he stammers, as though he hadn't shoved Combeferre against a door and gone to his knees not two hours ago. "It was an illuminating conversation. And anyway, that's not what I meant."  
  
"I know what you meant," Combeferre says, and leans on his elbow to kiss the soft fold where Jehan's hip meets his thigh. "Tell me the rest?"  
  
"It's not finished," Jehan warns, but he shuffles his papers around again, tilts them towards the light, and begins, quietly, to read.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Jehan's poem is, of course, the one he recites in the Brick (Volume 4, Book 12, Chapter 5, "While Waiting"). Title is from the same chapter. Please don't try to make Jehan's improvised verse scan or rhyme in French. it won't.
> 
> 2\. I suspect that most of Bahorel's relationship advice involves oral sex (the ambiguity in that sentence was intentional).
> 
> 3\. Erato is the muse of love poetry, and she wants you to write Combeferre in a slip.


End file.
